


Fine.

by lovehugsandcandy



Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovehugsandcandy/pseuds/lovehugsandcandy
Summary: Ellie’s built a new life out East and it’s all fine.
Relationships: Colt Kaneko/Main Character (Ride or Die)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Fine.

“I’m fine.”

The response is automatic, floating off her tongue easily; she doesn’t consider it, not anymore, just lets her lips move and her brain wander.

She’s been fine for eight years, fine through her time at Langston and through grad school and dissertation and post-doc, fine through first dates and relationships and now her tony engagement, fine through every single second since she sped away from her past behind the wheel of a refurbished sports car and stepped back into shoes that had never known exhilaration, passion, or heartbreak.

_That’s such a heavy course load! No one takes six classes._ I’m fine.

_Are you sure that you want to jump right into grad school?_ I’m fine.

_Are you stressed planning your wedding?_ I’m fine.

_How are you?_ Fine, fine, _fine_.

She’s fine. Everything is fine.

She ignores the hollow ache, right behind her rib, throbbing every time she thinks of how her life could have been, maybe should have been. She’s lucky she’s not in jail. She’s lucky she’s alive, thousands of miles from home, enjoying business dinners and boozy brunches and the trappings of success that sometimes feel like shackles.

Everything’s fine.

~~~~~

She shouldn’t be here.

Ellie should _never_ have agreed to this; the memories LA holds replay vividly behind her eyelids and the juxtaposition of reality with the images she sees nightly makes her dizzy. It’s as if she never left, the haze still blanketing the city and enveloping familiar streets in a thick gauze. It’s a struggle to breathe, to exist here, but Edward was insistent that they marry in her hometown and her lips formed the answer before she could think it through. _Fine_.

She has a week to finalize the arrangements, clock counting down to when her steps would take her down the aisle, toward her future and away from a past that everyone knew she needed to leave behind. (Sometimes, the gap between what people know and what her heart yearns for gapes so wide that the ache physically chokes her, longing shaking her awake and leaving her to pace the apartment, dangerous thoughts screaming in the darkened silence.).

So she definitely shouldn’t be _here_ , edging through the crowd, craning her neck for an unobstructed view of the starting line. When the engines roar, it vibrates through her chest and her heart leaps; she feels young again, soul awakening for the first time in forever, and, for a moment, the dull ache quiets.

The cars speed off, jostling for position, taillights fading into the night, flying as fast as in her memories. The crowd stirs, anxious for them to return, and she scans the lot, eyes tracing over vibrant colors and gleeful faces. 

Eyes wide, she turns and the shock that runs through her body is the closest to lightning she’s ever experienced. The crowd ebbs around her, and she can only see one figure through the bodies, posture tense and hands stuffed in his leather jacket. Colt looks like he’s seen a ghost, shock and disbelief painted across his flawless features, but she’s never felt more alive, cars roaring their return to the finish line, unable to pull her eyes from the electric stare in front of her.

She moves first, tentative steps making their way over to where he stands, stock-still.

“Hi,” she murmurs, with the bit of breath she can force through her lips. 

He stares at her, unblinking, until his eyes crinkle in the corner. “Looks like you’re in the wrong place, sweetheart.” She laughs; the spell has been broken, but she can feel herself falling prey to an even more seductive, dangerous pull. “What are you doing here, El?”

“I’m in town for a week. Wanted to check out some old haunts.” He studies her, eyes probing, and she cautiously slides her heavy left hand into her pocket. “How are you?”

“Good. Shop’s back up, crew’s doing good.” He shrugs. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” The words come easily, quickly, off her tongue and she flushes under the intensity on his face.

His face pulls into a frown and his eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…” Her shoulder quirks up and, for a moment, she hesitates; the words are heavy and bitter in her mouth, but she forces them out, anyway. “I’m fine.”

“Do… do you ever think you should be…” His eyes search her face carefully, and her left cheek trembles with the effort to maintain the same plastered-on smile she’s kept on her face for the past eight years, one month, and twelve days. And, like always, he doesn’t miss a thing. “More than fine?”

She doesn’t remember her response, the ride back to the garage. She must’ve held tight, fingers curled into leather and cheek resting against his shoulder blades.

She definitely doesn’t remember reconsidering.

They fall into bed as if no time has passed, as if she were 18 again, as if he were still grieving a father, as if she were still simultaneously dreading and hopeful for what her future holds. He takes her apart inch by excruciating inch and, when he finally slides into her, she is an absolute _mess_ , voice cracking over his name, tears slipping down her cheek and breath hitching with every inhale.

She can’t bear it.

He fucks her like he’s been waiting years for it, desperate and wanton; she leaves teeth marks in his shoulder to stop the words from leaving her mouth, but tears spring to her eyes when she mouths them, desperately, silently into the curve of muscles.

When she was 18, she had no idea what her next second would look like, let alone her life years in the future. And now that she is living in this future, she only wants the next second to stretch on forever.

She clings to him, fingers clenched and unwilling to let go; finally, the dull ache in her chest recede and her mind quiets.

~~~~~

They don’t spend the entire week in bed.

“You sure about this?” He asks, eyebrows raised, smirk fully planted across his lips, but he’s relaxed in the passenger seat, and the confident angle of his limbs puts her at ease. He trusts her.

“I’m sure.” 

She would have stayed in bed with him all week; hell, in her weakest moments, she never wants to leave, and the thought is far less terrifying than it should be. But Colt insisted that she take him for a drive, so she’s clutching the steering wheel of a Santagata worth more than a year’s salary back East and he’s grinning at her, all teeth and bravado, and she is powerless to do anything but pop the clutch and slam the pedal. His joyful whoop makes laughter bubble from her lips.

When she parks the car and the bay doors close, she dives across the console, adrenaline coursing through her veins and his lips heated on hers. Her hands burrow inside his jacket, seeking the warmth of his skin, and the metal of her engagement ring collides heavy with the zipper.

She pauses, only for a second, before her hands continue and she rolls her hips and it doesn’t matter who she belongs to because she can only sob his name into the curve of his neck. 

She doesn’t know what she feels (desire? shame? abject terror?) but one thing is certain.

She’s not fine.

~~~~~

She sneaks out one morning, when the sunlight is just peeking dull rays over the mountains and the tide laps slow and rhythmic against the sea walls, manor rising into the sky like a castle from a fairy tale.

Her heels echo as she walks on marble floors, and she ponders the difference between a castle and a cage. She talks about place settings (silverware glinting in the chandeliers like headlights in the night) and napkin colors (red like blood blooming on the shoulder of a blue suit) and her head spins with details and numbers.

She’s fine.

She slides her ring into her jacket pocket in the parking lot, metal cool to the touch, and slides into his bed before his eyes open. He’s still asleep, and she watches the rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic and slow, and the splay of his palm on her back is comforting, solid.

They eat at Kelso’s and she is transfixed by the curve of his smile as he takes her in; the yellow neon sign dims the counter and, even in a hazy tint, he is still the most attractive person she’s ever seen. Her heart patters in her chest, syncopated beat stuttering as she shoves a french fry in his mouth, and, for once, her heartbeat isn’t painful.

They race up the PCH, her hands clasped in leather and helmet resting against his back; they fly, the scenery racing past, faster and faster, and it’s unsettling when she blinks-when she closes her eyes, she sees one view and when she opens them, buildings disappear, flowing into pavement and fields and shopping malls surrounded by a sea of cars. They are speeding, flying over the pavement, and the world spins around her.

Blink and you’ll miss it.

She blinked, and eight years passed.

When she splashes into the ocean, hand tightly clasped by his, the water is warm but he’s warmer, pulling her close until she’s on fire, sun and heat flashing through her limbs, sea and sweat bringing salt to her tongue, and the world explodes into a blaze that rivals the midday sunshine overhead.

She’s not fine.

She’s amazing.

~~~~~

“Cheers!” 

The champagne glasses clink and Ellie plasters on that smile. She hasn’t worn it in a week and it’s unsteady, awkward, her cheek trembling with the movement. The liquor is sweet when it hits her tongue, bubbles and cheer colliding with the acid on her tongue. 

She’s getting married tomorrow. The thought is bitter as bile.

“How are you, really, El?”

“I’m…” She trails off, and Riya furrows a concerned brow. Behind her, Ellie can see her dad, beaming as he embraces her fiance, and Ingrid swirls around in a cocktail dress while Darius inhales fancy hor d’oeuvres and men in suits talk jovially and it’s like she’s in a different life. “I’m…”

She can’t finish the sentence.

Riya pulls her outside and holds her close as tears pour onto the silk of her dress.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Riya mutters into her hair and Ellie can only shake her head.

She doesn’t think it will be.

~~~~~

He’s under the bike when she strides through the bay door, steps purposeful, surging forward as if to hide her bloodshot eyes and trembling fingers. He stands, wiping motor oil onto his jeans, and his work boots are loud on the concrete; when he sees her face, he pauses, eyes cautious under the fluorescent lights.

They stare at each other for minutes that stretch like hours, and Ellie sighs before she speaks. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.” She glances down at her left hand; it’s naked, bare, princess diamond left on the nightstand of the hotel, glinting goodbye as she hung her head and slipped out the door.

“I know.” He crosses his arms and waits.

“But… this week… I just…” She took a deep breath. “It’s like you were doing everything in your power to make me stay.” His expression doesn’t change, eyes still guarded, but she knows. She _knows_ him, and the lack of reaction speaks volumes. “Colt…”

“I wanted to make your decision fucking hard. I figured you were going back, but I wanted to make-“ His voice catches and she can’t pull her eyes from his. “I wanted to make it fucking hard to walk to down that aisle.” 

Her shoulders drop; he had made it _impossible_. “Colt…”

“Did it work?”

Her eyes fly to him and she takes him in, really studies him, from the things that are the same (leather jacket, tilt of his smirk) to the things that are different (the scar bisecting his eyebrow, the inexplicable softness in his eyes). Things have changed for both of them in the years that slipped away, and she doesn’t want to miss another moment.

“Ellie, come back.” The tears start again but, instead of the despair when she fell apart in Riya’s arms, now her smile beams through her fingers. “Ellie, don’t marry him. You belong here. Just come back.”

Her hair flies behind her as she races forward, slower than a Santagata but just as fast as she needs to be, and the leather under her fingertips and stubble tracing her jaw is solid, firm, _real_.

She’s not fine. 

She’s alive.


End file.
